


What Love Brought Us

by TheWaitingFangirl



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, I FUCKING SWEAR, Monologue, someone take this fucking computer away from me because all i have to offer to this fandom is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 07:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13946583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaitingFangirl/pseuds/TheWaitingFangirl
Summary: It's a fearful thing to love what death can touch and Arno knows it all too well.





	What Love Brought Us

**Author's Note:**

> Okay.
> 
> It’s 2am but I had the idea(tm) and who cares if I have class tomorrow I had to do it and here we fucking are. I don’t even know what this is, I guess it’s a monologue about love???? I got the idea when listening to Long Fade Out by Belle Adair and put it together when reading L’Heptaméron (which is great and I recommend it). Who’s the sad bean who’d reflect these thoughts???? If you said Arno, you get a biscuit. 
> 
> IF I’M PROJECTING AGAIN? MAYBE......... 
> 
> Also writing listening to Imagine Dragons is 12/10, totally recommend it. Thanks to tumblr @tiniest-little-eagle for helping me choose thiS FUCKING TITLE, IT FELT IMPOSSIBLE

The rain poured down of the rooftops, unrelenting this late at night as it dragged on; the hearth barely and poorly warming up Arno’s room. You stretched out, laying spread atop the bed with the covers pulled up to your chest to try and chase away the bleak atmosphere, humming contently — almost like a big cat, as Arno commented once —, your eyes skimmed over the book pages with unhurried interest as he squeezed your cold feet to try and warm them up.

The fire crackled loudly.

Arno was sitting with his back pressed against the wall, his cotton shirt sagging around him — the way you knew he liked when staying in —, eyes open, but not entirely seeing. You knew better than try to talk to him when he was “thinking”, as he used to say; so you nudged his hip playfully, basking in the comfortable silence that had settled in the room. You heard him scoff, rubbing the palm of his hand up your calf as if stroking a good pet. Smiling, you let the book flop on your chest and caught the chocolatey-gaze of his eyes watching you.

“What are you thinking about?”, you inquired quietly, as if speaking any louder than the rain would break a spell cast by the intimacy of the moment.

Arno chuckled, shaking his head slowly in amusement. “Just… thinking.”

“Yes, oh, Arno”, you mused rolling your eyes and nudged his hip again, “thank thee for the extensive insight you always provide.”

“The pleasure is always mine”, he croaked back, throwing you an impish smile before squeezing your foot again and settling his gaze on the hearth, the orange-yellowish glow of the fire casting long shadows over his face. You knew what it meant when he was thinking, so you just waited, allowing your eyes to wander towards the fire, the embers floating up in disarray. Arno sucked a small breath in, frowning as his mouth opened; and then closed again — and you pretended you didn’t see it. “ _L’amour_ …”, he began at last, voice distant, “it’s such a lonely notion, don’t you think?”

You hummed thoughtfully, “articulate, if you please”.

Arno nodded almost imperceptibly, “the concept… is it possible to be happy? Without love? Everyone acts like it’s not, like it is the most important thing to ever happen to every and each of us and yet…”, he trailed off, pressing his lips together.

Smiling languidly, you quoted: “better for a man to speak or die?”

The fire crackled again as Arno turned his eyes to you, the corners of his mouth upturned slightly. “ _Le mieux ou parler ou mourir_ ”, he accompanied you. “ _L’Heptaméron_. I thought you didn’t like it.”

You shrugged, folding the top corner of the page you were reading before discarding it to the side. “To not enjoy it doesn’t mean not appreciate, you know?”

“Of course”, he agreed before continuing. “Love brought me nothing but woe. Wherever it flourished, heartbreak was sure to follow. I loved my father, loved Élise… and with time, learned to love François and Bellec too. And yet…”, Arno grew silent.

You waited for a moment. As sad as his narrative was, Arno’s voice carried little to no emotion, more like he examined the plot of a book or play with you before deciding whether he liked it or not. “And yet…?”, you prompted.

His gaze shifted towards you, eyes dark and curious as he watched you wait patiently for him. “I thought I’d be happier without it, without love. To avoid what it brought along, stay away from what was going to wreck me all over again”, Arno carried on, smiling briefly as he saw you frown in confusion, “I thought it was better to stay alone. That I’d grow used to it, that the loneliness that ensued after the heartbreak was enough of a reason not to...”, he groaned, resting his head against the wall in frustration. “Now that I’m voicing it out I realize how much of an  _imbécile_  I was—“

“No”, you cut in. “It’s okay. Please, continue”, you smiled warmly at him and he squeezed your ankle lovingly in a silent gesture of gratitude.

“I just…”, he sighed before speaking again, “I thought that it was for the better. I thought that I was right, until…”, Arno stopped to look at you, eyes small and filled with emotion, “you came along and proved me wrong. And for that, I’m thankful.”

You let out a small breath of adoration, shifting around to get closer to him and nudge his neck with your nose and hold his hand against your lips to press a kiss to it. “I’m glad that I did, then.”

“I know you are”, Arno breathed out, mimicking your action and pressing a kiss of his own to your skin. “I’m sorry if I sounded too…”, he cringed.

“Morose? Gloomy?”

“Yes, those.”

“You did, but don’t worry”, you soothed gently, nuzzling your face to his shoulder. “I love you either way, you know that.” He hummed an agreement and you watched the fire together for some time, silently thankful for it to start warming up the room as the rain kept on outside in its insistent tapping against the windows; legs tangling together to seek out comfort and contentment.

“Arno?”, you whispered almost too quietly for him to hear.

“Yes?”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere. I hope you know that”, you confided and he squeezed your hand softly as a sigh went past his lips.

“I know,  _chérie_.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- L’amour - Love
> 
> \- L’Heptaméron - Book written by Marguerite d'Angoulême, queen of France in the XV Century.
> 
> \- Chérie - Dear


End file.
